Emotionality as an Art Form, a Thing of Beauty

She lays in her bedroom for hours contemplating her purpose for being. She pretends to drown herself in a lake because knows sadness but will never take her own life. She laughs for hours at something he said, just because it sounded strange coming from his mouth. She is so ridiculously happy for a while.

Her outward form of expression is her claim to beauty. She feels things, and she releases them. People see her as a goddess with the power to understand the world and its workings on the deepest level. They suspect she is grieved by the most minor tragedies and made euphoric by the smallest acts of goodwill, but that is not the case. Rather, she is more human than most people allow themselves to be.

She sees her vulnerability and finds solace in her sentimentality because she knows that freely expressing her emotions is beautiful. Being a person who is not afraid to cry or write poetry, and is often disoriented by all the different things that pass into the human consciousness, is the most attractive thing ever.

This she knows, so this she does: she creates expression.